Boys’ R-rated behavior often arrives while they still look cute and innocent

The lady has stars in her eyes. The mother of two daughters believes her two adorable cuties will m
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The lady has stars in her eyes.

The mother of two daughters believes her two adorable cuties will meet and marry men who are pure of heart, clean of mind and nothing less than respectful of the opposite sex.

The lady is not naïve. She knows men are men and boys are boys. At least in theory. She laughed out loud after she asked her 87-year-old aunt to assess the Bill-Monica affair. Her aunt’s answer:

“She lifted up her skirt and a man’s a man.”

The lady allowed that this curt analysis beat those by well-paid hired hands: those imperially middle-aged white men you see on political talk shows. If only they could cut to the chase with equal verbal precision.

The lady and mother of two precious girls knows what makes the world go around. She has observed men in fraternities, in bars, and even at the 19th hole muttering profane imprecations. These guys were not for her daughters. Sometimes, she wondered whether their wives or girlfriends knew how their men talked and whether the wives and girlfriends minded. She wondered how these men would react if others of the male persuasion talked so lewdly about their own daughters.

Watching in wonder

When she saw the movie “Superbad,” she began to wonder whether today’s boys knew, or seemed to know, a bit too much. Did high school seniors of the male persuasion really talk so cavalierly about vaginal gels, not to mention the advanced methods of creating pleasure for those of the female persuasion?

How, she wondered, could a boy be so cute and talk with such lewd abandon? In her day, which was not so long ago, a mother would wash her son’s mouth out with soap.

So here she was at a Siena basketball game sitting behind three adorable boys. The one directly in front was a curly haired darling with an adorable grin. During timeouts, he grasped his cellphone, whereupon he began “texting” with a furious sense of concentration.

The lady and mother of two precious girls began to take an interest in this activity, and because she had laser eyes and a mother’s investigative instinct, and because it was not her daughter’s diary, but the instant scribbling of an adolescent stranger, why not?

Why not take a peek at this private missive that was currently being spinned and spiraled into cyberspace. A message that began “You’re gay.”

The mother nudged the man beside her, the man who from here on will be referred to as her companion.

Not blessed with laser eyes, the companion displayed moderate interest in the proceedings. Siena was pulling away with a 12-point lead with three minutes to go before halftime. Unable to decipher the instant transmissions, he instead watched the look on the lady’s face. Suddenly, a visage of maternal bemusement morphed into a freeze-framed look of shock and awe.

“Ohmigod.”

“What?” asked her companion.

“Ohmigod!”

In private conversation, one can reveal the exact words texted after what appeared to be a playful accusation denoting one’s sexual preference. But printing those words in anything other than an underground publication is, dear reader, a distinct impossibility.

One can say that the sentence immediately following “You are gay” was a graphic, scatological description of what some observers might call a perverse sexual activity.

“Ohmigod.”

Guilty pleasure

It must be said that after he heard the exact message, the lady’s companion derived a perverse pleasure from the revelation. For hadn’t he been telling her all along that often boys of a very young age will use language that will make hardened soldiers blush. And that for all its trappings of depravity, a boy’s use of this language might be a sign of innocence.

At that moment, the buzzer sounded. Halftime in Albany, whereupon a man in front sitting next to the boy turned his head and smiled at the lady and her companion. Spying an opening, the companion inquired about the boys sitting beside him.

“They’re my boys,” said the father. “Three of them.”

Then, pointing to the curly haired author, he added, “This one is the baby, He just turned 12.”

And with that, the father and his youngest boy ascended the steps of the arena for refreshments.

“Just think,” observed the lady’s companion. “In five years, the kid will be old enough to see R-rated movies on his own.”

Categories: Life and Arts

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